


The Song is Still Unwritten

by nialleritdidnthappen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Forgiveness, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 03:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11706192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nialleritdidnthappen/pseuds/nialleritdidnthappen
Summary: The truth is, “This Town” is not about Harry.Harry broke up with Niall on the band's last night together, and they haven't spoken since.





	The Song is Still Unwritten

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all the lovelies on Tumblr who had such nice things to say about this drabble. I'm considering turning it into a multichapter story, but I'm not known for my commitment to long fics, haha. Lots of factors will play in, like whether there is interest, and primarily, whether the inspiration hits. In any case, I hope you enjoy, and always feel free to come chat with me on Tumblr! 
> 
> Cheers.

The truth is, “This Town” is not about Harry.

It’s not about anyone, really. It started as a memory of home, which turned into an idea, which turned into a couple of sentences scribbled inside the back cover of a tiny moleskin journal. Which turned into a poem, into lyrics, and eventually, into a song.

In fact, as the whole thing played out, Niall didn’t even think about the possible repercussions of writing a song about an unnamed long lost love, filming a simple black and white video, and watching it make headlines and garner him talk show appearances and virtually break the internet. As far as Niall was concerned, he was just doing something he enjoyed. Something he knew how to do. He had created something that he was insanely proud of, and he wanted to share it with the world. What artist wouldn’t?

It starts with a text from Louis. As so many disasters do.

_Oi oi look who’s back in the studio._

Niall’s still lying in bed when the text comes in, popping up over the steady scroll of tweets and retweets he’d been thumbing through all night long, stomach bubbling with excitement and pride and a warm, comfortable nostalgia for the days when putting out new music was nearly a monthly occurrence. He hasn’t slept a wink. He’s not sleepy. He’s in the clouds.

_Ha ha. couldn’t stop myself. it’s in our blood now lou._

The next three messages pop up in quick succession, one immediately following the next.

 _It’s beautiful nialler._  
_And you sound bloody amazing._  
 _Proud of my little brother._

Then, three tiny balloons bobbing up and down in that familiar ebb and flow as Louis presumably types away at a fourth and final thought. Then, nothing. No message, and that tiny dancing ellipsis nowhere to be seen.

Louis never thinks before he speaks and this Niall knows for a fact, as does everyone who doesn’t live under a rock and has a Twitter account. So he doesn’t think he’s overreacting when his fingers twitch nervously, and there is an unbearable ten or fifteen seconds before the dancing ellipses reappears and, finally, a fourth message.

_Did you at least warn him you were going to release this?_

A few of months ago, Niall’s heart would have plummeted into his stomach and he would have dialed Louis immediately. He would have become a fretful mess, biting his nails and tossing back and forth under the duvet, bombarding Louis with a frantic stream of consciousness, _It’s not about him, I promise it’s not, it’s just a made up story but do you think he thinks it’s about him? Do you think he thinks that this is some backhanded way of getting his attention or getting revenge? Do you think the fans think that he thinks that I think…_

But he’s not the same person he was a few months ago. As cliché as it sounds, he’s grown up a lot, calmed down a lot, developed a keener ability to keep his emotions in check and take everything in stride. That’s not to say he doesn’t get nervous, doesn’t feel the unwelcome lilt of anxiety creep into his mind and tickle intrusively at his thoughts. But, having been on his own for several months now – really on his own – he has finally learned to hold himself up when anxiety strikes. He doesn’t have a brother to his left and another to his right and a lover at his back anymore. It’s migrate or die now, and Niall’s damn proud of how well he has managed to migrate.

_No, I didn’t. and I don’t need to cos it’s not about him. it’s just a story. just a song_

Niall is resolute in his words, hitting send without hesitation, because it’s the truth. But he can practically hear the sigh Louis is certainly huffing when he reads his response.

_If you say so._

Niall rolls his eyes and flips from back to belly, burying his face in his pillow. He groans dramatically, the way he used to when his mum would verbally drag him out of bed before noon on Saturdays. He almost ignores it when he felt his phone buzz again in his hand, but finds the will power to lift his head and read.

_We haven’t talked in a bit. How are you these days anyways?_

Just like he could hear the sigh of resignation that permeated Louis’ last message, Niall can see the look of kind, brotherly concern on Louis’ face clear as day in his head upon reading this one. In a confusing cocktail of emotions, the mental image makes Niall’s throat swell with indignation because he is not a little kid anymore… all while his chest tingles with a deep-rooted desire to be sheltered in Louis’ protective arms. No matter how old he gets, and no matter how stubbornly he insists otherwise, he has a feeling he’ll never fully outgrow that childlike longing. He blames Louis and Liam. They coddled him from day one.

And Niall loves them for it.  

_I’m really, really good. chilled out. over the moon about the song and got a couple other ones up my sleeve as well :)_

Niall grins like an idiot at Louis’ response.

_So when the fuck were you gonna let me hear them?_

He should get out of bed, he knows. It promises to be the best kind of busy day, which is exactly what he needs to distract himself from any unwelcome memories or unnecessary internal speculation as to what drama people’s complete misinterpretations of his first solo song might cause down the road. Hoisting himself up with a grunt and fumbling his way out from under the duvet, he types one final response, _call me Saturday, we’ll chill out,_ before heading to the bathroom and hopping into a hot shower.

He hears his phone buzzing consistently against the granite counter top as the spray soaks through his hair and he scrubs himself head to toe, but doesn’t think twice about it. It’s been blowing up all morning, after all. It’s not until he turns off the water, towels himself dry and makes his way to the sink for a shave that one particular notification catches his eye.

_@Harry_Styles replied to your tweet._

Harry is tactful on social media. Always has been. Niall knows this, and Niall knows Harry, and he knows Harry would never stir anything up online. He’d never let himself be vulnerable like that under the public eye. With this knowledge wrapped over his damp shoulders like a warm, trusty blanket, he picks up his phone and moves to swipe.

He surprises himself by hesitating.

“He wouldn’t start a war,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, then looking at himself firmly in the mirror. He can feel the safety blanket slipping off his shoulders. It was a feeble source of protection to begin with, stitched together by the naïve assumption that the Harry Niall knew before the night the band parted was the same Harry out there now, diving headfirst into all of the plans and experiences and endeavors he’d planned for himself in secret, all while he got up onstage next to Niall every night and pretended like there was no place he’d rather be.

Niall doesn’t know Harry. Not anymore. And he’s lying to himself by acting like he does.

But none of that matters now, he reasons. Niall is an adult, and over the last few months, acting like one was something in which he took immense pride.

He swipes open the app and locks his eyes on the screen.

_Ahhh, a lovely tune my friend. Congratulations. H_

Niall stares at the words, rereads them over and over as if searching for some deeper meaning between the letters. Each time his eyes land on H, a spark ignites deep in his chest, sending a tingle through his body. A pulse of pleasure he has forbidden himself to remember. Remnants of the electricity that once surged full force from his heart to the ends of his hair and the tips of his toes, as a voice that was smooth as chocolate and rich as red wine whispered words of worship and promises of forever through teeth that nibbled the flushed lobe of his ear…  

Niall tries to shake the image from his head, but it lingers all around him in the steamy bathroom, memories of soft hands slipping over damp skin to hug around his belly, a chin on his shoulder, kisses on his neck. All flooding back to Niall because of two simple sentences.

It’s the first time Harry has made contact since the night he left, stealing away into the night and long gone by the time Niall woke. Niall has no delusions whatsoever about that night, though. When asked, he never fails to own up to the fact that that was the farewell he chose when he refused to let Harry say a proper goodbye…

The steam is clouding his brain and making him dizzy. He needs to sit down.

By the time he plops down on the edge of his bed, still towel-clad and feet dangling over the edge, he’s clicking “respond” and beginning to type. He can’t let it go unanswered. People will fuss, resurrecting old drama that has simmered down to near nonexistence over the past several months. It would be a step backwards not to respond. No response would be louder and far more provocative than something short, sweet, simple.

_Thank you Harry buddie . ._

And maybe, Niall thinks, hopeful energy spurring his fingertips as he typed… maybe… this is a tiny first step in rebuilding the friendship that, to everyone’s sincere regret, crumbled under the weight of the broken romance.  

_Love ya_

He hits send — pulls the trigger — and the kickback sends him sprawling out on his mattress with a huff. He needs to get dressed, needs to suit himself up for the busy day to come and fool himself into thinking he has his shit completely and entirely together in the process.

But not before one more buzz of the phone pulls his focus. Louis again.

_Screw Saturday. I’ll be at your place in 10._

Niall knows it’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black when he replies with a grateful smile playing on his lips…

_Fine. but you spend too much time on fucking twitter ._

He makes his way into his closet to pull himself together, not bothering to keep an ear out for the doorbell. Louis has a key.

The truth is, “This Town” is not about Harry.

At least, it wasn’t at the start.

But each time Niall nears the end of the song, sings the last few lyrics and strums the final notes, all he can see, and all he can think about, is Harry.  


End file.
